


The Songs of Conspiracy

by Kalla_Moonshado



Series: Conspiracy of Ravens [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Disjointed, Flashes of life, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: Select songs in my RavenTrust playlist, explained.Some are character images.Some are moments in time.Some are just thoughts.Chapters are NOT in order of track list. (But track number is given, should anyone want to put it together.)





	1. Ivory Tower - Track 1

Ivory Tower – Blackmoore’s Night

The pale grey against more pale grey was the first thing Medivh noticed. The sky was overcast, the mountains that surrounded the cup of the valley where Karazhan lay were pale in the moonlight, bouncing from mountain to tower to river to mountain, giving the grey a white cast, like fine ivory.

He shook his head and left the surrounding forest, the mist rising from the forest floor giving way to the cold stone of the bailey, the wrought iron gates swinging open without a sound at his approach. Medivh shuddered as they closed behind him with a soft sound that was almost musical.

Apprehension gave way to fear, fear gave way to panic as he approached the tower’s doors, raised a hand, and the door opened as the gate did. The only thing that kept him from bolting was the voice that beckoned him inside. It was melodic and almost siren-like in the way it said his name.

Aegwynn smiled at her son, looking him over as he blinked in the brighter light of the foyer. Her welcome was warm, and his panic faded, his fear vanished, and the tiniest spark of hope rose in him. If his father had been as cold as moonlight, she was warm as sunlight. Though he had not seen her other than in his dreams, he knew her for what she was, for who she was.

The outside of the tower gave no indication of the life within, the warmth and color, the buzz of activity. It reminded him at once of Llane’s court, and he began to relax. Even if it was only a little.

They spoke easily. She introduced him to others. Asked him of his life thus far. Asked him why he had not come when she had first called.

And he answered. Fear. Fear of what he had done, fear for what he was, fear for what he was meant to be. And then fear of what he was capable of had driven him to finally answer, realizing he was a danger to those he cared most for.

Her harsh words were soothed a little in the face of that fear – in reality he still was little more than a boy, despite what he looked like, and she took that into account.

A fine dinner, more conversation, and she shooed him to his waiting bath and bed. Hot water eased the last of his traveling aches. The soft featherbed cradled him as easily as the one he had awakened in before he set out.

The call of a raven made him jump. He turned his head towards the window, and found the offender staring at him. He called to it, sitting up and offering it a finer place to sleep than the rain that was beginning to fall. After a moment of deliberation, the corvid hopped inside. Medivh closed the window against the rain, offered the raven a snack of grapes, which was accepted while he made a nest of a pillow and a blanket. He felt a little silly doing so, but he stayed awake a little to talk with the creature, feeling a kinship that he was surprised at.

He left the window open enough that the bird could leave if it so chose, but closed enough that the rain would not get inside. Only then did he take to his bed again, falling asleep to the sleepy chirps and clicks the raven made, seeming to lull him to sleep like a lullaby.

 

He stood on the observatory balcony, leaning on the parapet, his eyes focused on the north. He was being sent someone. A would-be apprentice. Delightful. Another youth who thought he knew it all, would be cocky and not actually know how to find his rear-end with both hands and a map to guide him, and would probably ruin more of the library while he was being tested. Or blow himself up like the last one.

A peal of thunder shook him from his thoughts as his conspiracy took to the skies from the nearby trees, heading for their nests in the stonework of the tower, the aviary and the chapel below. He looked up at the sky, shook his head, and made a short gesture with one hand. The clouds darkened, the wind picked up and lightning struck somewhere in the mountains to the southeast. But he managed to keep the rain from hitting the tower directly, and though the storm would probably blow back in during the night, at least he could keep the sky clear until his visitor arrived. It was only polite, after all.

Of course, his politeness melted into genuine curiosity as he beheld the boy in the observatory proper a few hours later. Sharp, witty, intelligent… And rather good-looking to drop the cherry to the top of the cream. He would see how the boy measured up with the library. Perhaps… Perhaps…

 

Thunder shook Medivh awake. His visitor cried out in startlement, bated, then took off out the window. He got up and watched his visitor vanish as the wind swept his hair back from his face before he closed the window again.

He had been dreaming. Or was it some kind of premonition? It felt so… so _real_. But why would he take an apprentice? Why would he reject … others? What was so special about the library? He shook his head, shivered, and padded back to bed, impatiently waiting for the bedding to rewarm around him.

His eyes were on the window, however. With it closed, he felt as though he wanted to follow the raven that had left his company. But when he came here he hadn’t given up his freedom. He was not a prisoner here.

Was he?


	2. Silent Lucidity - Track 87

Silent Lucidity - Queensrӱche

Khadgar’s sleep was fitful, though he was comfortable. His eyelashes fluttered as he slept, and the dampness beneath them did not speak well of his dreams. He shifted, seeking the warmth and reassurance that he was not alone. His flailing arm encountered a solid substance, smooth in places, marked by scars. The hand slid a little, seeking. It snaked under an arm and around the other, and he sighed, comforted enough to make a soft noise.

Medivh turned a little, hearing the sound of distress. Moonlight picked out the pale silver hair, the curve of one slightly hollowed cheek, the glitter of tears on the lashes. He turned over, gently displacing Khadgar’s arm and curled his own arm around the other, murmuring comforting words.

Blue eyes snapped open in the wake of the words. And more words followed.

Nightmares of death. Recollections of war. Desperate wishes for peace.

And Medivh answered them all with comfort – all was well. He was alive. The wars were over. Peace _would_ come. With words came touch. The brush of finger against cheek, the touch of lips against forehead. Reassurance.

Khadgar quieted.

The sun rose, and they rose with it. The lessons came then. Refinement of things learned long – and not so long ago. Reminders.

There would always be this.

There would never not be this.

“I will always be here when you seek me.”

And the day passed. Too quickly it seemed, as they sipped tea and watched the moons rise.

 

And Khadgar woke to Lothar’s gentle shaking, looking haunted and wanting very much to weep in vexation and loss.

But the war was not over.

There was no peace.

And Medivh's blood was still on his hands.


	3. The Sound of Silence - Track 3

The Sound of Silence – Disturbed

Moroes frowned as he watched Medivh stare out into the darkness. This was usual behavior of late. Medivh would stand on the balcony, without a cloak or a coat or even the warmer robes he favored in winter, stare out at the sky – but without notebook or astrolabe.

The green eyes were not blank – but mournful. It was one of _those_ moods. The moods that called for action. It was time to interest him in another banquet – or perhaps a ball. Or perhaps a performance? Something. Anything to take that look out of his eyes.

That look of hopelessness. The look of some pain that only he could feel, or as though he watched something only he could see. Something that drove knives into his heart and soul and would not be soothed.

The only light came from the stars and the candle in Moroes’ hand, but Medivh never did need an outside source of light; he could make his own. Shaking his head, Moroes turned away. He could not bear to watch.

He knew.

He knew that eventually, Medivh would stare up into the night sky, ignoring the silent tears that Moroes always saw, but Medivh denied. He knew that he would be there, in the pale grey of dawn, turn away from the sky and seek his bed and ignore any offers of food or drink for days, the sound of quiet sobs barely audible from the bedside.

 

Medivh could feel the warmth of the candle in Moroes’ hand. He hated disturbing his friend like this. He knew that it would call up suggestions of entertainment, boiled down to the isolation and the loneliness that took root in his heart.

He missed Anduin and Llane. He missed the life in Stormwind.

He would trade these visions of what was to come for that life back. At almost any cost.

He did not want to see this world razed. He did not want to see it die. He did not want to be powerless against the invasion that _would_ come.

And he harbored that harbinger of chaos.

His eyes closed as he heard the door close softly.

He didn’t want to die when he had only barely begun to live.

But he must.

And he knew who – and what must be his end.

And the tears burned his eyes.

And he let them fall in silence.


	4. Fields of Innocence – Track 70

Fields of Innocence – Evanescence

Khadgar looked away from the balcony, where Medivh had been just as morning rose. It could have been a trick of the tower. It could have been real. They had spoken.

He wanted to believe.

It was so easy to believe.

As the sun rose, brushing the top of the tower, it glinted off the familiar window, winking a little off something gold. An astrolabe, broken and left behind. The window that they had so often gazed out at the stars from.

He had believed. He had believed until the very end.

His hands told him the truth as the sun’s light lowered along the tower wall, until it brushed him. It offered him no warmth.

His hands told him the truth. The earth still on them. The blood that stained them.

He had buried more than a cook who knew the sweet-tooth of her masters. More than the castellan who was so devoted. More than his mentor, master and teacher.

His heart lay beneath the earth behind the tower, the earth that was lifeless as it was not when he had arrived.

The gardens would bloom no more. The trees, in their brilliant colors on the edge of the forest would bear no leaves, their very bark and fruits tainted. The tower, once pale grey and glinting in the sunlight was deadened.

As he replaced the spade in the stables, and started up the stairs to the library, he knew that his heart would remain here.

He avoided mirrors as he moved through familiar spaces, gathering books, notes… reminders.

He had wanted to believe.

He looked up, caught his eyes in one of the mirrors – one he had so often practiced before. His eyes shifted, as though waiting for his mentor to come up behind him. His eyes saw nothing but darkness and he reflection of books. He felt the sting of tears, his vision blurring. And closed them.

He had believed.

And he would give anything to believe again.


	5. P.S. – Track 4

P.S. – James

Medivh smiled his brightest smile as he bade farewell to the last of his guests, and as the doors closed, he leaned against it, and sighed. He had not chosen a bedmate among them tonight – he was just too tired. He knew Moroes meant well, but sometimes…

He ran his hands through his hair, then down his surcoat’s skirting as he started up the stairs, undoing the closures of said surcoat.

Leaving it open, he climbed to one of the balconies, looking out at the departing crowd, wondering if this all was some kind of mistake.

Was he meant to be here? Did it matter if he was here or not? Did any of them really care?

They might – but not for him.

The eccentric mage was all any of them saw – whether it was in the ballroom or the bedroom. Not a single one of them saw _him_.

And yet it continued. Every few weeks, he put on his brightest smile, mingled and laughed, took someone into one of the guest chambers and performed admirably, learning and teaching both men and women indiscriminately – sometimes both at once. It depended on how much dust and alcohol he consumed.

Until it all came crashing down.

He didn’t know what happened. He remembered fire – flames, deep within his soul and then consuming… consuming …

Medivh’s shock only deepened and his horror rose as they were everywhere – drained or mangled, ashes or… or worse.

Until he found Moroes, wide-eyed and trembling, his arms around himself in the dining hall.

He reached out, and could not leave this be. He realized that Moroes… oh gods… he had seen it all. And was babbling about it. How they all just…

Medivh closed his eyes. Reached out a hand and gently brushed his companion’s forehead. And forced him to _forget_. To forget what he had seen. Forget the screams. The panic. And sent him to his bed, unseeing, unfeeling. Until morning.

Until morning, when he had managed to dispose of the remains.

Until morning, when he would withdraw – for good.

He was a danger to everything he touched. First Stormwind… and now Karazhan.

He was no Guardian.

He was a monster.


	6. What Have You Done – Track 72

What Have You Done (Accoustic) – Within Temptation

Khadgar stared at the… thing… that stood before him. It sounded right. Looked right. But it wasn’t Medivh.

Not anymore.

No matter what it said. No matter how it tried to explain.

Not after it turned on not only him, but on Garona.

And on _his_ best friend.

Even as he fought to find an opening, trying to find some way to take down this thing that wore the guise of a man he loved. Trusted. Would have given his life for.

May yet give his life…

He was half of what he was. He was weakened, drained… but there.

There.

And then the warmth spilled over his hands.

Words… words that would haunt his nightmares for decades to come.

He sank to his knees. And the blade rang as it slipped free from what was left.

He could only stare in shock.

It had to be done.

There was no other way.

His head knew this. But his heart…

_I wish it had been me._

_What have I done?_


	7. Monster – Track 9

Monster – Imagine Dragons

Anduin Lothar leaned against the doorframe of Medivh’s bedroom, watching as the mage packed. It wasn’t an easy thing to come to terms with, Medivh leaving. He and Llane had only recently gotten him back from the damnable coma he’d been in.

The conversation had hurt all three of them in the end. He and Llane knew who – and what – Medivh was. They had seen what he was capable of.

They had seen the fear in those emerald eyes as he looked at them after, even as he tucked his hands under his arms as though they would do more without his knowing or call to the power he held.

His dreams were insistent, however. And he said he couldn’t deny them now that he knew.

Medivh looked up, and held out a hand. Anduin stepped forward and took it, then pulled the mage, his childhood friend, and a man he loved dearly into an embrace.

There was something wrong, he’d said. Something different that he didn’t feel when he was younger. Not that he felt much younger.

And as Anduin watched Medivh depart, he could only pray.

 

Medivh stared at his hands. They had once decimated the Gurubashi. Saved Stormwind. And now they had done the unthinkable.

Or was he the one who had done it?

The whispers, once so faint, became louder.

His head ached.

He had attacked his own mother. And something inside him wanted him to kill her.

Medivh went to the only person likely to listen to him.

And Anduin listened. Insisted that he was no kind of monster, nothing evil ran in him. It never did. It never could. Platitudes and placating, comfort that was cold and didn’t seem to work.

And then…

He stood in the library, looking around and trying to remember what it had been that he was doing. Why was he here?

He awakened to stare at the canopy above his bed, Moroes at his bedside, asking if he felt better. Better? Was he ill?

He lifted an eyebrow at the young man who sat across from him at breakfast, trying to remember his name. He’d been in Karazhan for a week now, he should remember that much about the lad. Why couldn’t he?

He stumbled into his bathroom, covered in blood – but none of it was his. What had he done?! Where had he _been_?

He stared across what seemed a chasm at his apprentice. And felt something familiar. Heard words that were in his voice. And knew.

He knew.

He knew where he’d been all those times. He knew what he had done. He knew the whispers weren’t just his own mind. He knew everything. And it was going to get worse.

Aegwynn’s voice was loud in his ears and he looked up, and watched as he – he? – attacked her. And the rest that he had not remembered. The darkness withdrew at his distress. And he was left alone for a moment – long enough to scream his own rage at the knowledge of what he was.

Anduin had been wrong.

And as Medivh, _just_ Medivh looked up into the sapphire eyes of his beloved apprentice, he spoke for the first time since he had been fourteen, on his own, for just those last beats of his heart.

_I only wanted to live my own life._

_Thank you – I fought it as long as I could._

 


	8. After the Fall – Track 89

After the Fall – October Project

The raven soared over Stormwind, surveying the new layout, so similar to the old one. He couldn’t help but approve as he caught a thermal and lifted, circling the Market Square – District, now. He banked toward the Cathedral of Light, feeling that nothing, time, nor orcs, could have taken it down. He circled back to land on the clock tower and stared at the Keep. It was not as warm as it once had been. He knew that.

Once his home, it was nothing like it was now. More utilitarian and built with more of an eye to defense than to comfort.

He sighed, letting his memories flow over him. The walks in the courtyards. The long talks over tea on the terraces. The events he had attended in the ballrooms, court attended and the moments stolen.

He turned his head to the gates, noticing his statue had been replaced by five others. Far more worthy ones, they were too.

The raven launched to glide over to one of them, landing on a staff of a wizened old man. He knew this old man, though this man was neither as old as he looked, nor looked like this statue, not now. He sighed, wishing that once. Just once, he could find him. Talk to him again. But he feared that day would never come.

He turned to watch the traffic of the Market District. And let himself get lost in the past once more…

Until a voice from his past called his name. His head lifted. And he launched once again, heading south.

 

Khadgar reveled in the freedom that the form of a raven gave him. In the eddies and breezes above Dalaran, he was nothing more or less than this. For once, he was not a commander of armies, or the Guardian or any other title or name someone decided to bestow upon him that he didn’t want.

He landed on the top of one of the spires and looked down at the city. His city, technically, for all that he didn’t really want the responsibility of leading the Council. It had fallen on his shoulders by default. And he would give much to pass it to someone else. He had things he’d rather be doing. Someone he’d rather spend time with.

The lights below began to wink out as the city settled to sleep – most of it, anyway. He knew there were still traders and shops that would never sleep. Not while the Legion didn’t. He turned and looked down over the Broken Isles. Was there something more he could be doing?

Not tonight. He was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally and… He looked to the southeast. Perhaps…

 

Stormwind was no longer home, and Medivh knew it. His home, not just where he lived, lay to the south. He landed on the balcony of the observatory, his talons curling around the familiar stone as he hopped down, his boots striking the floor as the green-blue mist resolved itself into a man. His home was here. Where…

 

Dalaran was not home. It could never be home when this was where he began, a frightened child that was too curious for his teachers’ liking – and sent off to die because of it. Khadgar first knew what home felt like in a tower far from where he grew up. And he knew that no matter what, he would find what he needed most here, in this place.

He landed in front of the door, cawing loudly. Blue-violet mist resolved into the man he was as he dug out a very old key, returned to him some years ago, somehow involving some kind of time travel and a Medivh that had not yet met him.

He stepped into the observatory, wishing he had simply flown up to the balcony – or at least flown up the many flights of stairs that led there.

And he was greeted with a warm embrace. This. This, to Khadgar, was home.

 

As Medivh pulled Khadgar against him, breathing in his scent of leather, old books and herbs, he knew this – _this_ – was home. Here in this place. With this person.

They were both home, at long last.


End file.
